Letter from a Stranger (44 page)

Justine leaned forward, focused her blue eyes on another pair of blue eyes which were the identical color. She smiled. “I’m glad you did. I couldn’t put it down. I hurt for you, suffered along with you, and I cried for you. I triumphed with you. I also longed to put my arms around you, to tell you how much I’ve always loved you.” She stood up, went to sit next to her grandmother on the wicker sofa under the pale blue wisteria tree on the terrace of the
yali.
“Reading your notebook has made me realize what a terrible world you lived in then, and that we still do now. It’s made me appreciate everything I have and what I’ve achieved. And I know how lucky I am. It also told me who and what I am. Because of you, Gran, how you brought me up, and—”

“Your father had a lot to do with that,” Gabriele cut in. “Tony was a good man. He helped to give you and Richard all the right values.”

“So did you. You’re the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known. I am so happy I belong to you, Gabriele Landau Hardwicke Saunders. And should I add Trent?” Justine gave her grandmother a pointed look.

Gabriele shook her head. “Trent is a pseudonym, just a name to hide behind. A ‘stage’ name, if you like.”

“I’m also pleased that I have your genes, your blond hair and blue eyes. Thank you for that.” Justine smiled at her, loving her so much.

“Very Aryan-looking, aren’t we?” Gabriele shook her head. “Irina was always drilling that into me.”

Justine said, “What a wonderful friend she was to you.”

“She certainly was.…” Gabriele’s voice trailed off; she studied her granddaughter for a moment. “I know you were surprised when you found out you were Jewish. Does it bother you, darling?”

Justine’s blond brows drew together in a frown and she threw Gabriele a puzzled stare. “Of course it doesn’t bother me! Why would it? I’m your granddaughter and that’s all that matters.”

Gabriele was silent for a moment, thinking how blessed she was to have such an amazing young woman for a granddaughter. There wasn’t a bad bone in Justine’s body. Nor a prejudiced one. She was an honest, straightforward, loving young woman with intelligence, perception, and humanity. Who could ask for more?

“You’re staring at me, Granny.”

“Please don’t call me Granny, Justine. It makes me sound so old. I much prefer Gran. And I was staring at you because I was marveling that you are part of me.”

“And very much like you, Gran. I need to ask you a couple of questions; please don’t be apprehensive. I’m not going to ask you to dig into your past. But I would love to know more about your friends from your wartime years. Princess Irina Troubetzkoy, for one. What happened to her? Did she remain in your life?”

Gabriele smiled. It was a smile that illuminated her face, filled it with radiance. “She did. We had been so close in those terrifying years, that kind of bond always holds.”

“Did she ever get married?”

“No, she didn’t. But she could have. She had many admirers, many proposals. She was beautiful, glamorous, and men found her most alluring,” Gabriele replied, suddenly seeing the young Irina in her mind’s eye, remembering so much.

“So why didn’t she marry any of them?”

“I used to wonder that myself, Justine. I didn’t find out until the fifties. One day in Paris she told me that Sigmund Westheim had been her one great love. Not that they were involved. There was no affair. He was married to Ursula. They were just friends. But she was in love with him.”

“I understand. It is one of those awful things that can happen between men and women. It’s so sad, unrequited love.”

“She did actually enjoy her life,” Gabriele went on. “She was very popular socially, always in demand. And she did eventually have Maximilian in her life.”

“Do you mean the Westheims’ son?”

“That’s right. Irina saved his life, you know, and the life of Theodora Stein, a friend of the family who acted as Maxim’s nanny. Irina managed to get three exit visas for the Westheims. In 1939. From Admiral Canaris. Sigi wouldn’t go, he wouldn’t leave his mother and two sisters behind in Berlin. But Canaris could not always produce the exit visas just like that. In the end, Ursula took Maxim and Teddy out. To Paris. She sent them on to England, to live with Teddy’s aunt. Then she returned to Berlin to be with Sigi. A fatal decision, as you know. Maxim grew up in London. Teddy was like a mother to him. He is a brilliant man and he became very successful. You would know him today as Sir Maxim West.”

“The international tycoon! Wow! He’s gorgeous as well as clever, Gran.” Justine looked impressed. “Imagine that!”

“He is and always was good-looking. Somewhat like Michael in appearance, wouldn’t you say?” Gabriele murmured, smiling at her.

“Yes, that’s true. But what do you mean about Irina and Maxim? I’m not following you.”

“After the war Teddy went back to Berlin to look for Maxim’s parents. She couldn’t find them. She did manage to find Irina. It was a fluke. And through the princess she learned what had happened to Sigi and Ursula. To my parents and the von Tiegals. They were a close-knit group, along with the von Wittingens and Dieter Müller and Louise. Anyway, Teddy went back to London, gave Maxim the tragic news. When he grew up and became successful he went to Berlin to see Irina. From that moment on he took care of her financially. The old baron had left her some money when he died, but not much. Maxim invested that for her, and added to it. He treated her like family.”

“What a wonderful thing to do. And did you continue to see Irina?”

“I did. When I lived in London she came to visit me. Sometimes we met in Paris. Or Berlin. But Irina was a bit like Anita. She didn’t want to travel. She felt safe in Berlin. Just as Anita is a stay-at-home, and feels safest in Istanbul.”

“I can understand that, Gran. What happened to Arabella? She was the last of the Roedean girls, wasn’t she?”

Gabriele’s face changed slightly. “She was, yes. She moved between Zurich and Munich for a while. However, she was never really herself again. And then in the early fifties Dieter stumbled on a strange story. Germans, mostly civilians, who had been arrested by the Russians when Germany surrendered, were finally being released from Lubyanka Prison in Moscow. There was talk amongst them about a German, an aristocrat, who was kept in solitary confinement. They said he had been there since 1945. His age and physical description fit Kurt.”

“And was it Kurt von Wittingen?” Justine asked, her curiosity aroused more than ever.

“We never found out. The Russians denied there was any prisoner at all. But naturally what it did was give poor Arabella hope. Which was fatal.”

“I can imagine. Did she become confused again?”

“Worse than that, Justine. Deranged. Diana had a difficult time with her.”

“And you never found out anything? Whether it was Kurt or not?” Justine’s intense gaze was focused on Gabriele.

“Not exactly. The world did learn about a Swedish diplomat called Raoul Wallenberg—”

“But of course, Gran! I’ve heard all about him. He rescued people, mostly Jews, got them out of Hungary. He was a bit like Admiral Canaris. He was considered a great hero, wasn’t he? Didn’t he die in Lubyanka?”

“Supposedly,” Gabriele answered quietly. “He had been arrested on suspicion of being a spy for the Americans. In 1945. Or so it went. The Russians denied he was ever there. There were so many different stories at the time and later, no one knew what to believe. However, I believe that Kurt von Wittingen was never taken by the KGB. Or in Lubyanka Prison. I think the prisoner
was
Raoul Wallenberg. Irina and I always felt Kurt had been killed in the last-ditch fighting in Berlin. And that very simply his body was never found.”

Justine nodded, her eyes full of sorrow. “How terrible for the von Wittingens. Never really knowing the fate of Kurt.”

“Oh, I think Diana and Christian believed the same as us. Well, they led us to believe this. And Arabella became very ill in the eighties. She died in 1990.”

“And Diana and Christian?”

“Neither of them married. They’re devoted to each other and live at a small Schloss called Wittingenhoff in Bavaria.” Gabriele turned her head, looked at Justine, finished, “They’re very devoted to me. I hear from them all the time. And sometimes I meet with Diana in London, or Berlin. We go back so far, darling; why, we were children together.”

“I know you were, Gran. And do you still go to Berlin? Or does it hold too many bad memories for you?”

“It does in a sense; on the other hand, part of my life was lived there.” Gabriele sat up straighter on the sofa, looked at her granddaughter. “Can you imagine, I was actually in Berlin on November the ninth, in 1989, when that dreadful wall came down. The following evening I met up with Maxim, Irina, Teddy, and Anastasia, Maxim’s former wife. Whom he eventually remarried. The whole week was like a huge street party, something special to be a part of.” She leaned back against the cushions, looked off into the distance, remained silent.

“Gran, what happened with Gretchen? Did she ever show up?”

“No. But I still think about her and little Andreas. They might be alive. She
had
become odd. I often thought she’d killed the child and herself. I just don’t know.
A mystery.
But it haunts me. I told Anita about it years ago and she agrees with me. It was all very strange.”

Justine watched her, thinking how beautiful she was for a woman about to celebrate her eightieth birthday in June. She reached out, took hold of Gabri’s hand, squeezed it. “You’re looking so sad, Gran. She died, didn’t she? Irina.”

Gabriele nodded, thinking again how perceptive Justine was. “Yes, she did. But she was
ninety.
Imagine that. She died in her sleep in 2001. Just slipped away peacefully. In Berlin. Which, despite everything, was a city she had always loved. And after all she’d lost and suffered, she did live a grand life, and she was beautiful right to the end. I still think of her. And quite often.”

“However did the two of you manage in that hole?” Justine wondered aloud, endeavoring to imagine that.

Gabriele laughed. “Our little abode, she always called it. We managed because we had to, Justine. We were scrupulously neat. Kept our few bits and pieces in the wine racks. And in the silver cupboards. We shared the food and water. We were controlled. And we gave each other a lot of privacy. It was
two
cellars, you know. We were often a bit irritable, but we stuck it out. Through a great effort on our parts.”

“I liked the sound of Dieter Müller when I was reading the notebook. Is he still alive?”

“I’m afraid he died in 1996. He made a big success of his newspaper. It is now run by his two sons.”

Gabriele took out a tissue and blew her nose, patted her eyes. “All this talk about my old friends is making me far too sad,” she said, and then smiled. “Dieter felt so responsible for us. He thought if he didn’t look after us properly he’d be letting Kurt down. He was a good man.”

“I felt that when I was reading your notebook, Gran. And I’m sorry if I’m making you sad. Just one more question. Okay?”

Gabriele nodded. “Just one.”

Justine said, “Peter Hardwicke was my grandfather. How did you meet up again after you left Berlin?”

“I’d given him Auntie Beryl’s address. He came calling. We started to date. Eventually we got married. We had a daughter, your mother, and things worked for a few years. But everything went wrong. He was nice, but weak. He had a domineering mother, very snobbish. They were bigoted. Difficult. She never liked me, thought I wasn’t good enough. We sort of drifted apart.… I think that’s the best way of describing it. My aunt Beryl always thought he wasn’t good enough for me. Oh dear. Families!” She laughed. “I never thought of divorcing him, you know, because of your mother. Then he died suddenly of congestive heart failure. I was sorrowful, and yet I remember having a sense of liberation.”

“So it wasn’t the great marriage Mom has always maintained. The fabulous love match?”

“No, it wasn’t, Justine. Now, enough of the past. Let’s go in and have tea. I’m sure Anita’s chomping at the bit to see you. And no doubt Mehmet’s gone to town. It’s going to be a fancy Ritz tea once again, knowing Anita.”

Justine rose, waited for Gabriele to stand up on her own, not wanting to be chastised for helping her grandmother. She saw Michael out of the corner of her eye, and waved to him, her heart leaping.

A moment later he was hugging Justine and then kissing her cheek. Against her ear he said, “I’ve missed you, babe.”

She laughed. “You’ve only been gone an hour.”

“It seemed like a lifetime.”

Fifty

Anita was waiting for them in the gold room. As usual she wore a lovely silk caftan, and as she hurried toward them she did so in a swirl of blues and greens. “There you are, my darling!” she exclaimed the moment she saw Justine. “Gabri’s missed you! I’ve missed you! I can’t tell you how easy you are to get used to. You’re positively addictive.”

Michael said, “And that’s the truth.” He guided Gabriele toward the sofa whilst his grandmother hugged Justine.

He had come back to Istanbul earlier than planned. When he had heard her sorrowful voice, her tears, and understood the full extent of her distress, he had canceled the rest of his Paris appointments, flown to Istanbul on Wednesday night. He had managed to calm Justine down, console her, give her background on some historical events she needed explained. Information about Nazi Germany. Then on Thursday and Friday he had read
Fragments of a Life,
had been enormously moved by it, amazed at how much Gabriele had been able to convey in so few pages. It must have been a hard task for her to plunge back into the past. It had taken courage. But then he’d always known she was courageous. Bravery was written all over her face.

“You’re very quiet, Michael,” Gabriele said as they both sat down on the sofa.

“Just a bit tired,” he answered.

She threw him a strange look, frowned, but was silent.

He said, “So what do you think about the idea of coming to New York with us? And would Anita come too?”